


In 26

by Timeless A-Peel (timelessapeel)



Category: The New Avengers (TV 1976)
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2019-12-27 00:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18293201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelessapeel/pseuds/Timeless%20A-Peel
Summary: A collection of "New Avengers" shorts covering each of the series' 26 episodes.





	1. Tale of the Big Why

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Author's Note: I had the idea for a series of New Avengers episode-related shorts awhile back, and thought I'd finally give it a go as a fun little side project. They won't be posted in particular order, but the plan is to have one piece per episode to make a complete set. Hopefully some of them will send you back to the original episode for a rewatch!  
> \-------------------

Purdey strode down the long, dreary-yet-ominous corridor with the confidence and ease of a model on the catwalk, seemingly unfazed by the bars that covered every opening and the armed guard at her elbow. She reached a barred door, attended by yet another guard, and dipped her hand into her purse to retrieve her ID. She flashed it at the guard, along with a winning smile. "I'm here on official business," she explained, with the exact mix of authority and vagueness that she thought would be expected of someone in her line of work. She hadn't had very many opportunities as of yet to wield her newfound authority. She pulled it off quite well, if she did say so herself, but then she had practised in the car on the way over.

The guard squinted at her picture, then her credentials, and nodded with satisfaction. He searched for a key on the dauntingly-full ring clipped to his waist and unlocked the door, standing aside to let both Purdey and her escort past.

Purdey was led into a large, cavernous room, painted the same off-white as the corridor, and populated with rows upon rows of tables and chairs. She made a beeline for the sole table that was occupied, at which a lone figure was waiting expectantly.

Halfway to her destination, Purdey turned to the guard. "Thank you. I'll be all right from here." The guard nodded briskly and retreated to man the door, leaving Purdey to continue the rest of her journey solo. She slid smoothly into the chair opposite the figure, set her bag on the floor, crossed her legs, and said, "Well, Mike Gambit, I suppose it was only a matter of time before I had to visit you in prison."

Gambit regarded her from beneath hooded eyes. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Of course not," Purdey said unconvincingly, evaluating the figure he cut in the shapeless, utilitarian grey prison-issue suit, constructed of a coarse-looking fabric that made Purdey itch just by looking at it. Somehow, Gambit's broad shoulders still enabled it to drape flatteringly on his slim frame. "All right, perhaps a little," she confessed. "You must admit, it is a little funny."

"Hilarious," Gambit said dryly, crossing his arms expectantly. "Did you bring me anything?"

"Gambit!" Purdey bristled indignantly. "I would have thought my sparkling personality was reward enough."

Gambit looked rather tired. "You know I'm always happy to see you, Purdey. But I have a lot of hours to fill, and you're only here for a little while." A wicked smile crossed his features. "I don't think the warden will let me bring you back to my cell to play backgammon."

"That's just as well. You always lose at backgammon. Did Steed bring you something when he visited?"

"Steed, or dear old Uncle John as Brandon knows him, brought me a couple of paperbacks and a magazine. Oh, and some of his Auntie Penelope's rock cakes, but the prison staff confiscated them as deadly weapons."

Purdey looked heavenward in annoyance. "And who are you going to tell Brandon I am, pray tell? Or do I want to know?"

Gambit splayed a hand across his forehead dramatically, affecting the angsty disposition of a heroine in a bad romance movie. "You're the beautiful, steadfast, loyal woman who's stood by my side throughout my confinement, faithful to the end, sustained by your endless love and devotion."

Purdey smiled sweetly. "Is this a bad time to tell you that I'm emigrating to Canada?"

Gambit's eyes glittered. "Only if I can't come with you. I know all the best places."

"We'll test your status as a walking, talking tourist guide later," Purdey demurred, with a ghost of a smile. "What have you learned from Brandon?"

Gambit's smile disappeared instantly as he slipped smoothly into professional mode. "About as much as I had when I talked to Steed. Nothing."

"Nothing?" Purdey didn't bother to hide her dismay.

"Not a damn thing." Gambit shook his head in obvious frustration. "The man can't be tricked, sweet-talked, flattered, threatened, drugged, or bribed into saying what sort of information he has or where he's hidden it. All he'll say is that he has it, and it's something big."

Purdey bit her lip. "We're going to have to follow him, then."

"Looks that way," Gambit sighed. "Are you ready for his release tomorrow?"

Purdey's grin was madly confident. "Do you need me to answer?"

"No." Gambit shook his head again, this time in admiration. "Hopefully we'll have better luck on that end. Tell Steed I'm sorry I couldn't find anything."

His disappointment in himself was obvious, and Purdey softened at his downcast expression. "We knew it was a long shot when you went in," she reminded, reaching out to cover his hand, curled in frustration on the table top, with hers. "Brandon's kept his secret for this long, after all. He wasn't going to give it up now. There wasn't anything else you could have done."

Gambit smiled crookedly. "Thanks, Purdey-girl." He squeezed her hand. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"I suppose after three weeks with only Brandon for company, seeing anyone at all would be a novelty," Purdey observed, withdrawing her hand to rummage in her bag. "No wonder you need to keep yourself occupied." She shot him a conspiratorial smile. "I did bring you something, as it happens."

"Really?" Gambit craned his neck to try to see in her bag. "Not a nail file to break out of here?"

"Better." Purdey came up with a small plastic packet, which she placed on the table and slid across to him.

Gambit picked the packet up and arched an eyebrow. "Marshmallows? Purdey, you shouldn't have."

"You might try sharing them with Brandon," Purdey suggested, slinging her purse over her shoulder and rising to her feet. "Maybe he has an irrepressible sweet tooth worth spilling secrets to satisfy."

Gambit smiled wanly. "It's worth a try. Heaven knows nothing else is working." His smile turned more genuine. "Thanks, Purdey."

Purdey didn't reply, but instead quickly rounded the table and bent to give Gambit a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said, and disappeared back the way she'd come, leaving Gambit clutching the marshmallows in one hand, the other pressed to his cheek, and a broad grin stretching his features. Now, more than ever, tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.


	2. Gnaws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

“A giant rat,” Gambit muttered under his breath, as the trio cut a grim path through the sewers in search of an exit.

“I did warn you,” Steed reminded, neatly sidestepping a patch of slime.

Gambit passed a hand over his brow. “I know, but…a giant rat? And I thought the man-eating plant I read about in the files was far-fetched.” 

“I’ll have you know that that plant was very real, and very voracious,” Steed defended, offering a helping hand to Purdey to negotiate the same patch of slimy cement. She smiled her thanks but leapt nimbly over it without incident. She’d somehow managed to keep her pink ankle-strapped heels, and indeed her entire floral ensemble, unsoiled, despite having left her wellies behind on this particular sojourn. “It took several years before I could look a Venus flytrap in the eye.”

Gambit was still shaking his head in disbelief, as though he hadn’t quite heard Steed. “I used to see rats all the time when I was aboardship, Some of them were massive. I thought that was as big as they could get. But that one…”

“To be fair, this one didn’t grow to its impressive stature living on hardtack alone,” Steed pointed out mildly.

Purdey was also thoughtful. “It’s funny when you think about it.”

“Hilarious,” Gambit said dryly.

“I mean,” Purdey went on, ignoring Gambit, “I’ve always rather liked rats. I know they’re not exactly sanitary, but they actually make quite good pets. They’re very intelligent.”

“Perhaps we ought to have offered this one a position in Westminster,” Steed suggested mildly, hooking his umbrella over a rung of a nearby ladder and peering inquisitively up into the blackness at the manhole cover above. “It might have had some innovative ideas to address the state of economy.”

Gambit cracked a grin at that. “Wouldn’t be the first politician to be called a rat…Purdey, where are you going?”

Purdey was halfway down a side tunnel before she turned and put her hands on her hips impatiently. “Obviously, someone has to check on Chislenko.”

“Ah, yes, our Russian friend. He proved quite helpful in the end. We might not have reached you in time if not for him.” Steed nodded at Gambit. “Go with her. These sewers are rather too well-populated for my liking.” He caught Purdey’s scowl, but was unmoved. “I’ll feel better if you’re together.”

Gambit touched the handle of the gun in his holster. “And have a gun that can stop a tank at 20 paces.”

“Yes, it did perform quite admirably, even if it did take two shots to put down our furry friend. You’ll have to ring the manufacturer and tell them to adjust their boast for giant rat encounters.” Steed started up the ladder, then glanced down at his colleague. “You will be all right?” he queried. “Watching over the corpse? I know it’s rather unnerving.”

Gambit’s grin was broad this time. “I’ll stay down here all night if it means seeing the look on McBain’s face when he gets a look at it.”

Steed laughed hard enough that he almost lost his grip on the ladder. “His paperwork will certainly make for interesting reading. I’ll see you later.”


	3. Sleeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

“Right, that should do it.” Gambit straightened up and found himself at eye level with a pair of shapely, crossed legs. He grinned and added, “Do you want to come over and inspect the workmanship?”

Purdey looked up from the magazine she had spread out on the kitchen table. “Not while you’re down there. I think you’d be the one doing the inspecting.”

“You’re the one who asked me over to fix your door,” Gambit pointed out. “Not the other way around.”

“Yes, but only because you were the one who broke it in the first place,” Purdey reminded, uncrossing her legs with a bit of a flourish that Gambit thought wasn’t strictly necessary; he had a sneaking suspicion she was teasing him. “If you learned to use a doorknob like a civilised human being, instead of attacking every door you encounter with your foot, you could have saved yourself a few pounds and your morning off.”

“I was worried about you,” Gambit said mildly, gathering up his tools and collecting the bits of rubbish that had been the packaging for the new latch. “The whole city was asleep, and you weren’t answering.”

“That’s because I was on my way to see you.” Purdey rose and Gambit watched her high heels traverse the few steps from the kitchen to her front door, in front of which he was currently sprawled. 

“Which we would have known, if you hadn’t locked yourself out of your own flat to begin with,” Gambit teased. She was standing very close to where he was sitting now, and he could make out a faint swirl pattern on her pale pink stockings. He wondered idly how they’d feel against his palms. “Don’t tell me you didn’t try to kick in your own door before you headed over to mine?”

“Stop trying to change the subject,” Purdey said tartly. She turned the latch and swung the door open and closed a few times experimentally, nearly hitting Gambit with it in the process. He scooted over just in time to avoid being banged in the hip, not at all accidentally. “The last fittings were only a few months old,” she bemoaned, finally swinging the door shut with a click. “They were changed the last time my door was kicked in,” she added pointedly.

Gambit raised his hands in surrender. “That was Steed, not me. Did you call him in to play handyman?”

“I didn’t have to. He paid for a locksmith to do it.” Purdey crossed her arms and smiled sardonically down at him. “But then he’s not mean, mean, mean.”

“It’s not mean to do it yourself if you’re up to the job,” Gambit defended, climbing to his feet. “I’m good with my hands.”

Purdey caught his cheeky wink and resisted the urge to smile. “Yes, so the typing pool keeps saying.”

“I’m willing to demonstrate, if you don’t believe me,” Gambit offered, stepping in that much closer.

“Yes, I’m sure you are,” Purdey said wryly. “Go on, then. What else do you have in your toolbox?”

“What else do I have…?” Gambit said faintly, eyes dancing, and he knew he didn’t imagine the way Purdey’s own big blue orbs were glinting in the early morning light. “You might be surprised.”

“Oh yes?” Purdey said, that secretive little smile of hers in full bloom. She reached out and smoothed some of the wrinkles in Gambit’s shirt. Then she leaned in, her voice a husky whisper, and said, “Well, then, why don’t we start with…?” Gambit could feel his breath catch in his throat, Purdey’s perfume drowning his senses. “The loo,” Purdey finished, in much a different tone. “It keeps running on and off.”

Gambit froze, felt a grimace twist his lips. “The loo?” Purdey nodded cheerfully in confirmation. “Right. Anything else you need doing while you’re at it? Cracked tile, plugged drain, cupboards need repainting?”

“Let’s start with the loo,” Purdey pronounced, patting Gambit’s arm condescendingly. “I’ll make you a cup of tea, how does that sound?”

“Fine, if you make it coffee,” Gambit sighed resignedly, seeing his weekend disappear before his eyes. Purdey had successfully turned his flirting into an excuse to get some free work done around the place, and she knew as well as he did that he was powerless to resist.

“Done,” Purdey agreed, turning on her heel and heading for the kitchen. 

“And a sandwich?” Gambit added hopefully, bending to retrieve his toolbox.

Purdey shot him a look over her shoulder. “Don’t push it.”

Gambit shrugged cheekily. “I work better on a full stomach.”

Purdey narrowed her eyes a little. “Maybe,” she allowed, which was as good as a ‘yes’ in Purdey-speak. She would have cut him down right away otherwise. “But that depends on your workmanship.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Gambit treated her to an elaborate navy salute. “I’ll get right to it.”

That set Purdey laughing in spite of herself, and Gambit found himself chuckling along as he headed for the bathroom. On second thought, being alone with Purdey in her flat all weekend sounded like the best way to spend his time off that he could think of.

“Before you go,” Purdey asserted suddenly, abandoning the boiling coffee and pulling open a drawer. She extracted something small and tossed it to him. “Catch.”

Gambit did, one-handed, other hand full of tools. He examined it with interest. It was a small silver key. He regarded Purdey inquisitively.

“It’s to my flat. So that I don’t need another new lock next week.” Her hands were on her hips in that no-nonsense way that told him she was trying to keep things professional. “And before you get a swelled head, Steed’s getting one as well. I can’t imagine what the neighbours think, with men kicking down my door at all hours.”

“If only it was a little closer to the truth,” Gambit said wistfully, then held up the key in acknowledgement. “Thanks, Purdey.”

Purdey arched an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For trusting me,” Gambit said frankly, tucking the slip of metal into his pocket. “I’d return the favour, but you already have one to mine.”

Purdey blinked in surprise at the recollection. “I do,” she said, half to herself. “I’ve had it since April. You gave it to me when we barely knew each other.” She frowned in confusion. “How did you know you could trust me with it?”

Gambit smiled and shrugged, already en route to the bathroom. “I just did. Let me know when the coffee’s ready.”

Purdey stood alone in the kitchen and realised that she’d just been paid a rather large compliment. She smiled to herself and turned her attention to the coffee.


	4. House of Cards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

Purdey risked looking away from the road and checked on Gambit out of the corner of her eye, paying particular attention to the way he pressed his hand to his wounded side. It was the first injury of any significance either her or her colleagues had accrued in their relatively short time together in the field. Although, strictly speaking, Gambit’s injury hadn’t happened in the field, wasn’t the result of a dangerous encounter with a double agent or a harrowing high-speed chase. It had been inflicted in the heart of their very organisation, their homebase, at the hands of someone they’d both thought of as a friend, which only served to make it worse than any sneak attack in a dark alley.

Not that it was a grievous wound. Kendrick had cleaned and examined it thoroughly, and come to the conclusion that nothing vital had been hit, not much blood had been lost, and Gambit would recover nicely as long as he kept the wound clean and changed the dressings regularly. Purdey knew from both the Ministry’s rumour mill, and Steed and Gambit themselves, that both her partners had accrued their fair share of damage in the line of duty. Gambit himself had survived being shot three times the year before whilst scrambling over the Berlin Wall. A little light stabbing was a walk in the park in comparison.

But those bullets had been fired by faceless enemies in the dark. Spence wasn’t a stranger, wasn’t even a colleague who could barely be considered an acquaintance, the type one nodded to in the break room but otherwise more or less ignored. Spence was a friend, one of the boys, always up for a drink or a friendly bout. Or a squash game. Purdey remembered Gambit’s squash bag still sitting where he’d left it, not far from the body lying in a pool of drying blood. She also remembered the matey way Gambit and Spence had tossed it back and forth just minutes before, exchanging in the sort of good-humoured banter that only came through long acquaintance. Purdey had also become quite friendly with her instructor during her training, but she couldn’t hold a candle to Gambit’s history with him.

Gambit’s absent clutching at his wound likely had little to do with pain. The anaesthetic Kendrick had administered before stitching up the wound would still be working its magic at this stage, Purdey knew. The way Gambit’s fingers idly traced the length of the bandage beneath his shirt looked more like the man’s repeated attempts to convince himself that the wound was real, that the events that had unfolded over the past hour had, in fact, happened. The ghastly pallor of his complexion and the blank look in his eyes told her that he was still in shock. Purdey couldn’t blame him. She hardly believed it herself, and she’d only known Spence just over a year.

“How long did you know him?” She had been thinking the question, but it came out unbidden.

Gambit’s head turned very slowly, and he regarded her as if through a fog. “What?”

“Spence.” Purdey changed gear and tried not to drift off the road while risking a glance at Gambit. “I know you didn’t meet him at the Ministry.”

“No,” Gambit confirmed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall heavily back against his headrest. “I didn’t.”

“How did you meet him, then?” At some level, Purdey knew this line of questioning might be intrusive, but she reasoned it was good for him to talk about it. Better than sitting there brooding. And she couldn’t help but admit she was a little curious about Gambit’s past.

“He was my first karate teacher,” Gambit said softly, eyes remaining stubbornly closed. “I met him fifteen, sixteen years ago, when I decided I wanted to learn about the martial arts. He was a good teacher, even back then.” There was a pause, and then Gambit added, “And a good friend.”

Purdey bit her lip. “Yes, I suppose he was,” she said quietly, feeling a bit like a heel for prying. Then another thought occurred to her. “But the good thing about friends is that you can always make new ones.”

Gambit eased open one lid, blue-green eye bright against his pallor, and regarded her hopefully. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Purdey confirmed, treating him to a warm smile. “Now try to rest. We won’t be at David Miller’s for another half hour.”


	5. Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

“Walton? Walton!”

Gambit’s eyes flew open, and for one, blissful moment, he thought Purdey was standing over him. He looked up into the big blue eyes framed by the short blonde hair, and felt a welcome rush of relief. _Purdey’s here. Steed must have sent her. He’s shut the whole operation down, and now I can go home. No more pretending. No more masks. No more doubles._

Then ‘Purdey’s’ mouth opened, and Lolita’s coarse accent broke the spell. “Shift yerself. Prator wants to see ya.”

Gambit felt sick to his stomach as reality clicked back into place, bringing him to full alertness faster—and more cruelly—than a bucket of ice water to the face. “You’ve no right to come bargin’ into my room, Lolita,” he snapped angrily, only just remembering to use ‘Terry’s’ accent instead of his own.

Lolita transferred her ever-present wad of gum from one side of her jaw to the other and scowled. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t ask t’come in here. Only Prator wants ya, and you’re too stone deaf to answer yer phone.”

Gambit forced a lascivious smile to cross his features. “Are ye sure Prator’s the only one who wants me?” he leered, even though the mere idea of sleeping with Lolita made him sick to his stomach. He would’ve found the woman contemptible and crude at the best of times, but as a replacement for Purdey she was downright insulting. Gambit knew if the real Purdey ever crossed paths with her, she’d cut her down in seconds, be it with her wit or her right hook. But Purdey wasn’t there—sadly—and so he had to be disgusted on her behalf.

Lolita curled her lips into a sneer, clearly as turned off by the prospect of them sleeping together as he was, but unlike him she had no reason to hide it. “Never gonna be that desperate,” she spat, turning on her heel and stalking toward the door. “Get a move on. Couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to come back in here.” 

“Suits me!” Gambit yelled after her, but his words were drowned out by the slamming of the door. Gambit glared at it for a moment before throwing back the bed clothes and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress.

Two months. _Two months._ That was how long he’d been undercover in Prator’s organization, figuring out how it worked, and pretending to learn how to be himself. He’d thought the hardest part of the job would be the layers of performance required to pretend to be Walton pretending to be him. And it had been, for the first two weeks.

Until Lolita showed up.

He hadn’t been impressed at first. Between the hair and the make-up and the gum, she hadn’t looked particularly Purdey-ish, certainly not enough that he’d pick up on the uncanny resemblance in a crowd.

She may not have been cultured, but Gambit had to hand it to her—the woman was a fast learner. She’d seemed a bit at a loss to start—she’d come back from the salon with a haircut and dye job that were so wrong that he hadn’t even had to feign his laughter as he mocked her mercilessly for getting it so disastrously off-the-mark. She’d sworn a blue streak at him in return, but the next time she’d come back, it was right. So right that, if he wasn’t thinking, he’d mistake her for Purdey, just as he had a moment ago.

She was learning Purdey’s mannerisms, too—faster than ‘Walton’, despite his head start, a fact she loved to rub in at every opportunity. Gambit had intentionally tried to make his transition from ‘Walton’ to ‘Gambit’ a longer, harder slog, not only to buy him more time in the organization, but to keep his transformation believable. Lolita, however, was progressing with leaps and bounds. The ballet classes they were making her take were starting to make her move right, and her accent, when she really concentrated, was getting better all the time. There were moments when, if he didn’t know better, he would have thought she was Purdey. And he did know better. If he wasn’t careful, she was going to overtake him, and be sent out into the world to kill Purdey before he had a chance to warn her. But if ‘Walton’ started getting too good too fast, he risked blowing his cover.

Gambit scratched irritably at his stubble and tried to think. ‘Walton’ wasn’t used to shaving regularly, which proved rather uncomfortable at times. Gambit was tired of being uncomfortable, tired of feeling out of place in his own clothes, his own skin, his own life. Tired of trying to dissuade Lolita, who was clinging on to the mission like a limpet, no matter how hard he tried to drive her away.

He was going to have to do something drastic, and soon. Purdey, the real Purdey, was one in a million. If he wasn’t careful, there’d soon be none at all.

vvv

Purdey leaned heavily against Walton’s slammed door and let out a long breath to calm herself. The man could get up her nose at the best of times, but it hadn’t been helped this time around by what she’d seen in the moments before she’d roused him.

She’d been taken aback by Walton’s eerie resemblance to Gambit the second she’d clapped eyes on him, but the man’s behaviour had meant the similarities had stopped there. But over the past six weeks, he’d started to be believable. Not just the way he sounded or styled his hair, but little things, subtle mannerisms, that she wasn’t certain even Prator noticed. She’d caught Walton working his jaw when he was worried, just as she’d seen Gambit do whenever he was perturbed. He’d adopted the rocking gait of a sailor, even when he wasn’t ‘in character’. She’d seen him execute the same, subtle flicks of the eye that Gambit used when he was assessing something, or concealing his reaction to an unexpected development. And to top it all off, the man was a good shot, too. “Lots of practice hunting rabbits,” he’d lilted at ‘Lolita’. Every day, the lines got blurrier, the tells got fewer, and Purdey started to doubt her ability to spot the fake Gambit if push came to shove. 

But a moment ago, when she’d stepped into the sleeping man’s bed chamber and saw him in repose, she’d felt her breath catch in her throat. She’d watched Gambit sleeping on more than one occasion, because there wasn’t much to do at three in the morning on surveillance when it was her shift, and he was stretched out snoring in the seat next to her. She’d tried to tell herself that her subtle spying on her somnolent partner was down to idle boredom, and wasn’t interested in exploring her motives further, especially at that moment. But it meant that she knew what Gambit looked like while he was sleeping, and Walton had looked exactly the same—peaceful, boyish, with all the cares of the world smoothed away. If he could imitate Gambit so perfectly when he wasn’t even conscious, she shuddered to think of what he was capable of when he was awake.

Purdey passed the back of her hand over her mouth to wipe away the sweat beaded on her upper lip, and took another soothing breath. She had tried very hard not to acknowledge to herself how much Gambit had come to mean to her in the past few months that they’d been working together, but she couldn’t deny that the idea of Walton replacing him filled her with ice cold dread. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, lose him. Not if ‘Lolita’ had anything to say about it. She squared her shoulders and set off down the hall with purpose. Her partner’s life was on the line. She wasn’t about to let him down.


	6. The Lion and the Unicorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

The Lion and the Unicorn

Gambit let the cooling, cleansing water of the shower wash away the sweat of the day. It was bad enough being cooped up in the Unicorn’s apartments with the owner’s corpse still in residence. It was made worse by the fact that there were no clean clothes to be had. The plan had always been to hold the Unicorn just until he could be safely moved, a few hours at most. They weren’t meant to stay overnight, and definitely not for several days. That meant they’d come unprepared—no suitcases, no toiletries, just the clothes on their backs. Gambit, for the life of him, couldn’t work out why Steed wouldn’t let one of their French counterparts fetch their suitcases from the hotel, or at least a change of clothes. Steed was under the impression that some sort of surveillance equipment could be secreted in them, and he was taking no chances that the Unicorn’s death would be revealed. Gambit didn’t think that reasoning held water. They’d let Purdey leave for provisions, after all, and she hadn’t been kidnapped and questioned. And they hadn’t found any listening devices in the baguettes or the eggs. If there were any, Purdey’d scrambled them in her omelette ages ago. But Steed’s word was law, and Gambit knew he wasn’t taking any more chances after the operation had gone so badly sideways once before. He didn’t blame his boss, but that didn’t make the idea of putting his sweat-soaked clothes back on after washing away the day’s grime was any more appealing.

Gambit switched the shower off with reluctance. At least the Unicorn’s facilities were well-maintained. If the three of them had had to keep close company without so much as a decent wash between them, the atmosphere was bound to get rather...gamey. 

He pushed back the shower curtain and took the green towel from the rack, the one that Purdey had designated to him when they’d realised that they were going to be staying rather longer than intended. She’d taken it upon herself to organise the amenities and, quite literally, get their house in order for their extended stay. Hence the towel colour-coding system—the Unicorn had helpfully bought flannels in several different shades, which had saved his uninvited guests-cum-jailers-cum-undertakers guessing who had used what last. Purdey had called dibs on a particularly rich royal purple, and Steed had appropriated the yellow, which left Gambit with green. Given that was also the colour of the jacket and trousers he seemed to be doomed to spend the rest of his days in, it was somehow grimly appropriate.

Gambit wrapped the towel around his waist and turned, with a sigh, to the sink. There was something decidedly distasteful about using another man’s toiletries, even when the owner wasn’t lying dead in the next room. The scent of the man’s shaving cream got up Gambit’s nose, but given that all Purdey had managed to dredge up from the cupboards was a cutthroat straight-blade razor, the idea of shaving without it was unthinkable. So aside from using the man’s personal possessions, Gambit seemed destined to smell like the enemy as well. It was as though the French spy was haunting him from beyond the grave.

This was all leaving aside the fact that Gambit was also sharing the razor with Steed. Gambit had forged a close friendship with the man in the course of their work, but that didn’t mean he wanted the added intimacy of sharing a razor with him. There were some things that were a man’s prerogative to not have to share, and his shaving equipment was one of them. Gambit picked up the razor, unfolded it with corners of the mouth tugging downward, and wondered if his hand slipped and he sliced his jugular open, it would be his subconsciousness’ way of putting him out of his misery.

Fifteen minutes later, Gambit rinsed the shaving cream from his face and tried to blot the worst of the stink away with his towel. He ran his hands through his still-damp curls before turning to exit the bathroom. It was an ensuite, leading into the Unicorn’s over-the-top bedchamber (complete with more merry-go-round horses—the man was obsessed). The bedroom was another part of Purdey’s arrangements. It was the only one on the floor, and as Steed and Gambit were gentlemen, it had gone to Purdey by default, unless she was on Unicorn corpse-watch duty, in which case it went to Steed. Gambit had had quite enough of their dead friend without sleeping in his bed as well, and anyway, he’d gotten so used to dossing on the couch that he couldn’t be bothered to move.

He stepped wearily into the bedroom, where he’d resigned himself to putting his old clothes back on, only to be met with the sight of Purdey, red tights in hand, examining her bare legs for bruises. She looked up in surprise and squeaked, whipping the sheet off the bed to cover herself, even though her shirt was long enough to serve as a minidress.

“What are you doing here?” Purdey exclaimed.

“I was having a shower!” Gambit shot back, hand flying to grab his towel in an iron grip. “What did you think that was, a localised rainstorm?”

“I didn’t hear any water!” Purdey accused. 

“I was shaving,” Gambit justified. “Anyway, I only just came in. How was I to know you were in here?”

“You could have made a little more noise,” Purdey snapped. “To let me know you were here. I didn’t know where you’d gone. You could have been out on the roof for all I knew.”

Gambit looked pointedly at where his well-worn clothes were spread across the bed. “Naked?”

“It is France,” Purdey pointed out. “You could have gone sunbathing. They’re very broadminded here.”

“I’m not.”

“No. You only strip off for artists you’ve only just met,” Purdey said archly.

“Gambit? Oh.” Steed bursting in elicited another shriek from Purdey, who dove further under the covers. “I do beg your pardon. Am I interrupting something?”

“I wish,” Gambit said tiredly, feeling a headache coming on. “What’s happened?”

“Commander Leparge paid us a visit while you were…indisposed,” Steed informed, as Purdey busied herself with rearranging her sheet into a makeshift toga. “They’ve had as little luck getting anything out of our uncommunicative friend as we have.”

“Well, that’s spectacularly unwelcome news,” Purdey grumbled, climbing onto the bed, toga and all, and trodding over bedding and Gambit’s clothes with abandon. Gambit didn’t bother to chastise her out of a sense of self-preservation. It hardly mattered, anyway. He’d sweltered away in the Paris summer heat for so many days in those garments that as far as he was concerned, Purdey’s feet might actually tread some of the dirt out. 

Purdey hopped off the other side of the bed and came to stand between them, tousled hair and bed-sheet costume making her look rather akin to a sullen child who refused to go to bed. “Is that all?”

Steed smiled his most disarming smile, but Purdey’s glower burned away the charm on contact. “For the moment.”

“Good,” Purdey pronounced. “I’m going to have a shower. If I’m very lucky, I might drown in the process and free myself from our apparently endless confinement.” She shot Gambit a warning look. “And you’d better not be here when I get out.”

“Trust me, Purdey,” Gambit assured wearily. “I’m not enjoying this much, either.”

“Hmm,” was Purdey’s only reply, before she stalked inside the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. Steed and Gambit stared at it for a moment until they heard the water start running.

“As we appear to be having an impromptu house meeting,” Steed murmured, _sotto voce_ , using the sound of the shower as cover, “I’ve a sneaking suspicion someone has been using my toothbrush.”

Gambit frowned. “Which one is yours?”

“The green one.”

Gambit blanched. “That’s _my_ toothbrush.”

“Ah.” Steed pondered that intelligence for a moment. “Well, that’s one mystery solved. We can go back to focussing on the Unicorn.”

From beyond the door came an ear-piercing shriek. “Mike Gambit, did you use all the hot water?!”

Gambit really did have a headache now. “You can keep the toothbrush,” he told Steed. “If Purdey has her way, I don’t think I’m going to live much longer.”


	7. The Midas Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

“How did you know?” Purdey asked suddenly, as Gambit ferried her to the airport in the XJS. She could see Steed’s dark-grey Range Rover ahead of them, determined by mutual agreement to be the better vehicle to carry their courier in if they were able to catch him just as he arrived at the terminal. Gambit’s more agile Jaguar would be kept on standby, in case the so-called “Fat Man” proved faster—or more cunning—than his name suggested, and they needed to give chase. Purdey was going to be inside the airport with Steed, keeping watch for their man, but the senior agent had insisted that Purdey ride in with Gambit, so that she would know where he was parked and could retrace her steps in a hurry to point Gambit in the right direction. Purdey had the sneaking suspicion that there was another, unspoken, decidedly strategic reason behind Steed’s suggested transportation arrangements. She had the feeling the senior agent was trying to encourage her and Gambit to spend as much time together as much as possible. Of course Steed had wanted them to get on when he had brought Purdey onboard for their first assignment as a trio, when he and Gambit had needed a woman for their investigations. But ever since Purdey’s official appointment to the team, Purdey had the sense that there was a certain amount of professional matchmaking at work. Steed wanted his two young partners to work well together, and the only way they were going to do that, in his eyes, was if they spent as much time together as possible, even when there was no real work being done. One of their earliest cases, concerning the sinister monks on the Isle of St. Dorca, had kept Gambit and Purdey on relatively separate tracks, and Steed seemed determined not to let that happen again. Hence the car ride. Not that Purdey was complaining. She got on well with and liked both her partners, and they were already working well as a team. She was still a little in awe of the fact that she was working with the legend that was John Steed, having heard countless stories about the Ministry’s most famous, skilled, and successful agent during her training. Mike Gambit, on the other hand, was another kind of legend entirely, if the rumours floating around the typing pool were anything to go by. The man’s proficiency at fighting, shooting, counter-espionage, and pulling off foolhardy stunts was as notable as his reputation with the female of the species. But professional and romantic accolades aside, Purdey hadn’t gleaned a lot about the man behind the rumours from the Ministry’s grapevine. That had made her curious, and now that she was working with him, Purdey had made a point of trying to learn more about her partner. Hence her uncontextualised question.

“How did I know what?” Gambit risked looking away from the road for a moment to regard her in bemusement. 

Purdey tsked as though Gambit’s inability to read her thoughts was an unforgivable failing. “How did you know where the flights were arriving from today, and at that exact time?”

“It’s not exactly top secret information,” Gambit pointed out, grinning at her as he signalled and changed lanes.

“Yes, but you didn’t telephone the airport,” Purdey pressed. “You couldn’t have looked it up ahead of time because you didn’t hear the content of the message until Morgan brought it to us and I read it out. You had absolutely, categorically, no way of knowing that you’d need that information. But you knew it anyway.”

“Oh, that,” Gambit said blithely, as though she’d asked him about something as inconsequential as the weather. “I’ve got a good memory. Always have, even when I was kid. If I read something or see a photo, it just, uh, sticks. I can make it go in and stay there. Comes in handy in this line of work. Rules, old case reports, telephone numbers, file photos, that sort of thing.”

“And airline schedules?” Purdey supplied knowingly.

“And airline schedules,” Gambit confirmed, with a certain amount of pride.

“That explains it then,” Purdey said, with a certain amount of satisfaction.

Gambit frowned, wrong-footed once more. “Explains what?”

“All the old movie trivia,” Purdey said brightly. “And I thought you’d memorised it all just to impress me.”

“Is it impressive?” Gambit wanted to know, regarding her with interest.

“That depends.”

“On what?” 

“On how it compares to mine,” Purdey said smugly. “I may have to test you later.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Gambit almost purred. “Amongst other things.”

Purdey pretended to ignore the way his eyes were dancing, and resisted the urge to smile. “It must be nice to have a good memory, and not have to reach for the phone book all the time.”

“It does save a little time,” Gambit admitted. “Although sometimes it can be more of a burden.”

Purdey regarded him quizzically. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Gambit had gone grim now, eyes looking at things that appeared to him alone. “Some things you wish you could forget.”

Purdey could see the edges of unpleasant memories in his eyes, and wasn’t quite sure how to respond. They drove in silence for a moment. Then Purdey asked, “What about me? Am I in your mental database?”

Gambit gave her a very long, lingering look. “Purdey, I couldn’t forget anything about you if I tried.”

“You’re not exactly forgettable yourself,” Purdey replied, tongue-in-cheek. “Or at least your bad jokes aren’t.”

“Thanks,” Gambit said dryly, as he pulled up to the curb at the airport. “Try not to forget about me if our Fat Man makes a run for it.”

“I’ll be all right.” Purdey flashed him a quick smile as she darted out of the car. “Don’t go away.”

Gambit shook his head in fond amusement. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”


	8. Emily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

Emily

“Now, then, gentlemen, if you’ll turn to the chart on page fifteen…”

Gambit, who had read the whole of the document he had been given during the long and somewhat rambling introduction given by one of the bureaucrats, had been anticipating the page reference and was already there. He allowed himself a small, internal smile at the equally small victory. It was about the only thrill he’d had over the past hour. One of the many things he’d learned during his time at the Ministry was that meetings like this one were more or less the same regardless of which country, which government, or which spy agency was hosting them: Britain, Germany, France, the United States, or, as in this case, Canada. They all took place in the same non-descript boardrooms, around the same type of long, dark polished wood conference tables, with the same cluster of water pitchers and half-picked at bowls of scones or fruit in the centre, and the same padded chairs that creaked or squeaked in equal measure. It didn’t matter what the topic was, it all felt the same. This time around, as it happened, the subject was the introduction of a new North American security protocol. Gambit had absorbed everything he needed to know from the document, and the speakers had yet to come up with anything novel, so he had settled into a pleasant sort of boredom, counting the minutes until dinner and freedom.

Steed was actually the one who had been invited to attend this meeting, but said invitation had been extended when the senior agent was already deeply embroiled in running the undercover operation to catch the notorious double agent “the Fox”. Purdey was already undercover in the Fox’s organization, so Steed had volunteered Gambit to travel the short distance from Toronto to Ottawa to take in the meeting in his stead. Steed had tried to dress it up in the sort of language that made out that Gambit taking on these responsibilities was part of the ongoing process of Steed passing the mantle to the younger man. Gambit didn’t believe him for a minute, and knew that, the Fox be damned, Steed was about as enthusiastic about attending this meeting as Gambit was about sitting through it. Steed knew he knew it, too—he was just waiting to see whether Gambit would call him on it or not. Gambit’s part of the game was deciding whether or not to do it. They’d do the dance when he got back, and if Purdey was there, she’d look heavenward and tell them they were both infuriating, and mutter something about how she preferred the company of the Fox’s band of cold-blooded killers. All told, Gambit thought the bit of good-natured ribbing would round out the evening rather nicely.

The speaker had moved on from the diagram on page fifteen, and Gambit dutifully turned over the page on the dossier in front of him on the conference table. He took a sip of water, ignored the rock-hard scone he’d taken out of politeness from the pretty secretary who had offered it to him—all right, perhaps it had been out of more than politeness—and settled his gaze off into the middle distance at the very familiar picture of the Queen hanging on the opposite wall, mentally ticking off each of the permutations of the security codes that he’d already committed to memory. He was pleasantly bored.

And then, suddenly, he wasn’t.

The dread washed over him without warning, came seemingly from nowhere, but was suddenly everywhere. His heart stopped and dropped into his stomach, splashing up bile that threatened to force its way up his throat and all over his dossier and that of the unfortunate man next to him. His skin prickled with sweat, and his pulse raced violently. He must have paled, too, because the pretty secretary, looked up from her notetaking and regarded him with alarm. “Mr. Gambit, are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” Gambit croaked, even though he clearly wasn’t. “Excuse me for a moment,” he apologised, stumbling to his feet, forcing a rictus grin across his features. “I need some air. The, uh, jet lag is starting to get to me.” He beat a hasty retreat before anyone could say a word. 

It was only when the door had closed behind him that the secretary said, “Jet lag? But hasn’t he been in Canada for well over a week?”

The bureaucrat who had been speaking, and was clearly unhappy at being interrupted, adjusted his glasses, and said, “Our English friends are sometimes rather...eccentric. Now, moving on to the table on page seventeen…”

Out in the corridor, Gambit made a beeline for the nearest empty office with an open door. He closed it behind him and co-opted the telephone, hoping that whoever the space belonged to had taken a particularly long smoke break. He dialled eight to get an outside line, then a number from memory. It rang twice before it was picked up. “Steed.”

“Steed, it’s me,” Gambit said curtly, skipping the formalities. “Purdey’s in trouble.”

“What? Has someone contacted you?”

Gambit’s eyes squeezed shut. He felt a migraine coming on, and he didn’t get migraines. “No, no one’s contacted me. I just know. Are you at the safe house?”

“No, but Collings is. Surely if Purdey was in trouble, she’d have been late for reporting in?”

“Then it’s only just happened,” Gambit said brusquely. “Trust me, Steed. Get down to the safe house. She’s going to need someone there, someone she can trust.”

“All right,” Steed acquiesced, and Gambit breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Steed might not understand exactly how he’d received his information, but Gambit knew the man’s experience with acting on instinct had a long and storied history, and he wasn’t about to tell someone else not to follow his. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks, Steed,” Gambit said gratefully, ringing off. He took a moment to compose himself before returning to the meeting.

If the wait for the end of the meeting had seemed interminable, the wait for news from Steed was absolute agony. Gambit felt as though time was not only standing still, but actually going backwards. He kept glancing surreptitiously at his watch, but the seconds passed more slowly than he could have ever thought possible. The moment the meeting broke up, he sprang to his feet, making his hurried excuses to his fellow attendees as they attempted to engage him in conversation. He dashed out into the corridor, taking the corridor in long, quick strides, determined to be on the next plane to Ottawa.

Behind him, running feet clicked their way down the corridor. “Mr. Gambit!” He turned to see the pretty secretary giving chase, waving her hands urgently. Any other time, he’d be happy to have a beautiful woman chasing him. In other circumstances, he might have asked her out. But not now. He stopped, but only for what he thought would be long enough to make his excuses.

“Mr. Gambit,” the woman gasped, stopping short of crashing into him. She had actually caught him up quite quickly, and Gambit wondered distractedly if she jogged in her spare time. “I’m so glad I caught you. There’s a call for you at my desk. A Mr. Steed.”

Gambit didn’t know if he’d ever moved so quickly in his life. 

The receiver was lying abandoned on the desktop, and he snatched it up anxiously. “Is she all right?” he demanded, voice as ragged as his nerves.

“Yes, but only just,” Steed confirmed. “Her cover was broken, though we’re not sure how. She barely managed to escape with her life.” He heard Gambit’s sigh of relief down the line. “How did you know?”

“It’s Purdey,” Gambit said tiredly, adrenaline draining away and leaving nothing but weariness behind. “I always know.”

“What an extraordinary coincidence. That’s what Purdey said.”

Gambit smiled wanly. “Coincidence. Right. There’s a lot of that going on today.”

Steed chuckled. “I won’t ask how. I’ve been in the same situation myself more times than I care to admit.” He paused, sounding thoughtful. “Shall I give her your regards, or would you rather give them to her yourself upon your return?”

“We can do both, but it doesn’t matter,” Gambit murmured, then smiled to himself. “She already knows. It is Purdey, after all.”


	9. To Catch a Rat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The New Avengers, nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

Gambit carefully turned Cromwell’s body over, mindful of the possibility that the man could be playing possum. By all accounts, the White Rat was a wily one, and had to have been to last as long as he had without anyone discovering his identity. It would be completely in character for him to play dead and bide his time until some poor, unsuspecting sod came to check on him, whom he could take then take hostage. Gambit didn’t relish being in that position, and he suspected Steed and Purdey wouldn’t be too pleased with the idea, either.

His caution, it turned out, was admirable, but ultimately unnecessary. Gambit knew Cromwell was dead by the limp, loose flopping of his limbs as he him turned over, and the unnerving, wide-open, staring eyes. The fingers he pressed to the man’s neck in search of a pulse were a mere formality. He sat back on his haunches and regarded the corpse with the grim, evaluative gaze of a professional. He’d never been particularly keen on Cromwell, but he’d got on with him in the suitably civil way one did with senior people from other departments. Cromwell was the sort who always wanted things done his own way and clashed with those who opposed him, but he’d never done anything too egregious to get up Gambit’s nose. Other than putting the moves on Purdey of late, of course, but Purdey was even better at putting people in their place than Gambit was. None of them had cottoned on to the darkness lurking beneath the slightly smarmy charm. Not even Gunner had made the connection until the last moment, and he’d been looking for the White Rat for nigh on two decades. The thought made Gambit feel vaguely sick, for reasons that had nothing to do with his close proximity to a dead body. There were lots of distasteful aspects in their line of work, but nothing stuck in Gambit’s craw quite like the revelation that a person you’d worked with, chatted to in the breakroom over bad coffee, reported to, laughed with, or just generally trusted in the way one had to if you were going to get any work done without driving yourself mad, had been actively plotting to undermine you, your colleagues, your whole department, and the entire country they’d sworn to protect. Gambit didn’t like games and deception at the best of times, but when they were played on such a grand scale, he liked them even less. How anyone could justify betraying the people who were loyal to him was something he was glad he would never understand.

It had caught up with Cromwell in the end, though. Gunner’s second bullet had finally found its mark, seventeen years after the first.

Speaking of the Ratcatcher… “How’s Gunner?” Gambit inquired, moving smoothly from Cromwell’s prone form to where Steed and Purdey were huddled around the fallen man codenamed “the Flyer.”

“Surviving,” Steed pronounced distractedly, busy peeling away the hem of Gunner’s blood-soaked shirt to reveal the bullet wound just below his ribs. “I’m not certain if anything vital’s been hit, but he is losing rather a lot of blood.” He glanced up at Purdey, who was cradling the injured man’s head. “Go to my car and radio for help. Gambit, you stay here and help me. You’re extensive, uh, medical experience will stand us in good stead.”

“Experience earned as the patient, you mean,” Purdey observed wryly, shifting over so Gambit could take her place at Gunner’s head. “But I suppose after being shot so many times, one must pick up something. Other than scars.”

“My scars heal up quite well, thank you very much,” Gambit said smugly, taking off his jacket and bunching it into a makeshift pillow for Gunner’s head.

“I suppose there must be some benefit to being a bullet magnet,” Purdey teased, straightening up and hurrying toward the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

Steed was already pressing his handkerchief to Gunner’s wound, but smiled with paternal pride, bloodties and genetics be damned, as Gambit automatically undid his tie, wrapped it around the injured man’s waist, and tightened it, creating a makeshift bandage without having to be asked.

It was an example of Gambit’s easy practicality and effortless ability to anticipate what needed to be done and do it without being asked, or even hinted at. It was one of the many things Steed valued in Gambit, as both an agent and a person, and he nodded in silent praise at the younger man, who ducked his head in embarrassed acceptance at the compliment. “I’ll, uh, just find something to elevate his feet. Help with the blood loss until the ambulance comes.”

“Good idea,” Steed concurred. Gambit set off into the dark depths of the Old Picture Palace in search of a box that was still strong enough to bear the man’s weight, but didn’t have any rusty nails just waiting to pierce unsuspecting human flesh.

“Steed…?” Gunner’s voice was tremulous and weak, but still there, which meant that the man was still conscious, a fact that wasn’t to be taken for granted at this stage of the game.

“It’s all right, Gunner,” Steed soothed, gifting the man a reassuring smile. “Help is on the way. We’ll have you fixed up in no time at all. And then you can have a well-deserved rest from seventeen years of rat-catching.”

Gunner frowned slightly at the mention of his old nemesis. “I did get him?” he asked uncertainly, the line between fantasy and reality clearly not so much blurred as non-existent in the man’s fractured and pain-filled mind. “Did I get my White Rat?” he wanted to know, echoing the question he’d asked Purdey only a few minutes earlier.

“Oh, you got him all night,” Gambit assured, reappearing with a crate in hand. “I checked the body myself. He’s dead.” He set the crate at Gunner’s feet and lifted the appendages to prop them up onto the surface. “And if you keep your feet up here and hang on for a little longer, then you won’t join him.”

Gunner was regarding Gambit with a mixture of interest and confusion. “Steed?” he repeated, peering back up into the senior agent’s face seeking a positive identification.

Steed nodded in confirmation. “I’m here, Gunner.”

Gunner was thinking slowly, trying to put the pieces together. “Steed. I made some inquiries. Talked to old sources. Didn’t know who to trust. Needed to know where you were in 1960…You were working with…working with…” His voice faded, and Steed and Gambit exchanged concerned glances at the man’s obvious perturbance. “Steed and a…doctor,” he murmured, then brightened as he seemed to reach a conclusion that made sense to his own fevered brain. “Are you Dr. Keel?” he asked Gambit, quite earnestly.

Gambit let out a pleased bark of laughter. “Sorry to disappoint you, Gunner, but my doctoring skills all come courtesy of the doctors who were unlucky enough to be stuck with the task of stitching me up.”

“Oh.” Gunner took a moment to process this information. “So you are…his…his successor?”

Steed exchanged looks with Gambit over Gunner’s body. “Yes, I suppose he is, after a fashion,” Steed confirmed. “I normally prefer to work with women, but when someone’s very, very good, I make an exception. And Gambit’s very good. So I made an exception.”

“Lucky for me,” Gambit put in, returning the compliment in kind.

“Lucky for us both,” Steed concurred.

Gambit chuckled. “Better not let Purdey hear us carrying on. She’ll accuse us of forming a mutual appreciation society and burnishing each other’s egos.” He grinned at Gunner. “What do you think, Flyer? Now that we’ve found the White Rat, can you keep another secret?”

Gunner’s broad smile was childlike in its enthusiasm. “That’s a good secret,” he told Gambit and Steed, looking from one to the other. “I like it. I like it. And I like that there is no more White Rat.”

“We all like that,” Steed opined, as the wail of an ambulance siren reached his ears. “I only hope that you’ll like your hospital food as much!”


End file.
